All my life, I have tried to downplay the fact that I have Type I Diabetes. No big deal, I'm just like everyone else. My first doctor, at age 5, told me that I would get a kidney transplant for High School graduation if I didn't fix my blood sugar. I was 5. Sure, let me figure that one out on my own. Because of this horrible physician, from Primary Children's Medical Center, I ride.
I remember my mom slipping into my room in the middle of the night (frequently), rubbing her hand on my cheek to check for a cold sweat meaning low blood sugar. Or worse, a child who was no longer breathing. Now that I look back on that memory, I am horrified for every mother everywhere with a Diabetic child. I cannot imagine how many sleepless nights my mother experienced. How much worry she lived with each day, hoping that I could know how to care for myself when I was not in her care. Because of my wonderful mother, and every single other worried mommy out there, I ride.
When I was ten years old, I did not wake up- I had a seizure in the middle of the night due to low blood sugar. Fortunately, my sister woke up. After a shot of Glucagon (pure sugar), I began to come to. My only memory of that is waking up in my daddy's arms, with mom looking down at me. For every terrified sibling and family out there, I ride.
When I was 17, my sister got sick. After only a short time of extreme thirst, fatigue, and nausea, she was diagnosed with Type I diabetes as well. I was crushed. How could this misery plague yet another person I adore? Despite my paralyzing dispair and fear for my sister, she immediately took it in stride, and has worked very hard to control it ever since: she has two adorable, lovable, beautiful, perfect children. For my sister, as well as my own hope for children, I ride.
My daddy and his brother each donated a kidney to two of their Diabetic siblings. Shortly afterward, my dad was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. I was not around, but every time he took us kids swimming, we saw the scar extending from his spine to his belly button. My daddy was cut in half for Diabetes, and then was thanked by the disease itself. For him, my dear daddy, I ride.
When I went to college, I met an intriguing man. He was missing a foot and part of his right leg. He showed it off like it was next year's style. He radiated confidence. He was different. He is now my husband. Because of that confidence, I am finally accepting Diabetes. And so, becuase of my confident, different, intriguing husband, I ride.
I am grasping it after 16 very difficult, painful, tearful years. I am coming to terms with the fact that I am different. And it's okay. I can finally let all of the words of wisdom from my parents, my doctors, and my family sink in; I CAN take care of myself, and I CAN do what everyone else does. I just have to put the Diabetes first.
I'm different.
I'm confident.
And so, I RIDE.
